


Mon Ange de la Nuit

by Fiselis



Category: Interview With the Vampire (1994), Vampire Chronicles - Anne Rice
Genre: ((anne if ur reading this ur my queen jk)), Blood Drinking, Canon Rewrite, Loustat, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Vampires, square up anne! im ready!, this is basically just a rewrite except i intend to make them gayer
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-09
Updated: 2018-10-11
Packaged: 2019-06-07 15:55:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15222617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fiselis/pseuds/Fiselis
Summary: It's only due to a miraculous chain of events that the two had gotten together. It's even more miraculous that they've chosen to stay together. Regardless, they have the rest of eternity to figure themselves (and their relationship) out. Even during the most difficult times, both know how much they care for the other.Or,Louis finds himself drawn into the beauty of the night. Lestat bites off a bit more than he can chew.





	1. Part I

**Author's Note:**

> hey hi hello its been 2 years since i last updated/written anything for this account so! theres that.  
> this is basically a rewrite of "Interview with the Vampire" by Anne Rice. highly recommend if you have not read it. its v good, but i wanted to make it a bit more gay (like, in a healthy and less depressing way) so here's this!  
> more chapters will come, given that i have the motivation to continue on writing. here's hoping lol!  
> enjoy! x

He had been watching him for a few days now. Of course, not to the man’s awareness, that is. And he intended to keep it this way, preferring to stick to the shadows and watch the lookalike move on through a mortal life.

However, Lestat was quick to realize that subtlety was _not_ his forte.

No, what Lestat desired had far more to do with the physical being of this strange character. This unhappy man in a family of old wealth, who would only genuinely smile at the mention of his dearest brother. A man who, though quite single and at the age of marriage, would gently turn down the numerous proposals of young women. A man who worked hard for his family and did everything he could to support them. 

Lestat _wanted_ that, but he had no idea how to get it. He was stuck in the shadows, awaiting the perfect moment to strike, awaiting the time where he could step from the miserable dark and face this man head on.

But he was growing oh so impatient.

And so, as a cat plays with a mouse, Lestat began to play with his own prey. But maybe, just this once, this prey would not become his next snack. No, in fact, Lestat could see himself longing for this man for much longer than his usual fling.

Louis was important to him, and he wasn’t even aware of him yet. Lestat’s heart would have been hammering if it weren’t for the whole “undead” deal. Not that he minded, of course. In fact, dying was probably the best thing that ever happened to him. It just made life so much easier.

Lestat leaned against the wall of the tavern, watching drunken men stumble and sing for the amusement of it all. How ungraceful, how _mortal._ Willing to throw away their limited, precious moments of life for a simple night of fun? It was simultaneously despicable and charming in a sick sort of way.

And Louis, why, Louis was just as mortal as the rest of them. 

Though not quite as foolish, to say. The man _did_ have a drink or two, but he still remained himself. He smiled politely at the others, laughing along with their jokes, but rarely spoke. He was soft spoken when he did choose to open his mouth. His cheeks were pink, flushed from the alcohol. Lestat could not break his gaze.

Louis felt the burn of someone’s stare on him, but as he glanced up his eyes met with no one’s. He pursed his lips, still feeling as though he was being watched, and stood from his seat. It was getting late, and he had no desire to damage his family’s reputation with poor decisions. Saying a quick goodnight to the men and women he dined with, he stepped out of the bar without a second glance.

The night was cool, the air a bit brisk but bearable. Above, the moon shone like a silver lantern, illuminating the empty street with an almost supernatural glow. Louis found it beautiful, but oddly melancholy. It was though the night spoke to his very soul, calling for him to join it, awaiting his future in the shadows. He shook his head, clearing his mind from its strange fog. Perhaps it was something he had to drink.

After a few minutes walking, Louis found a carriage generous enough to take him to Pointe du Lac. It wasn’t a long journey, however Louis still felt the need to give a hearty tip. The driver dipped his head in thanks, and rode away into the night.

Louis sighed for a moment, once again shaking his head to clear his thoughts. He needed sleep, and his delirium was proving it. Before he could even reach for the door, it swung towards him. Louis, surprised, jumped back a bit, but relaxed when he saw his brother.

“Paul,” Louis smiled, reaching out a hand. His younger brother enthusiastically shook it, and dragged him inside. “It’s good to see you well.”

“You talk as though I’ve been sick,” Paul scoffed, a devilish glint in his eyes. “I’m perfectly fine, Louis. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever been better!”

The two carried on navigating the house before settling in the parlor. Paul gave a hushed request to a young female servant, who gave a quick curtsy before leaving. They were alone. 

“Louis, there’s something I want to tell you,” Paul started, his grin growing larger by the second. “I think...I think I found my calling.”

Louis raised his hand, stopping him. “Wait. Wait a second. Let me sit down first, okay? I’m very tired, you know.”

Paul rolled his eyes as Louis got himself comfortable on the couch. He looked up at him expectantly, gesturing for him to continue.

“Religious work. I think that I’d like to be a missionary,” Paul’s blue eyes glittered as he imagined his future.

“Brother,” Louis chuckled gently. “You’re only fifteen.”

Before Paul could respond, the servant from earlier walked in, apologized for interrupting, and placed a tea tray on the table. Louis thanked her softly, and she quickly excused herself.

“Louis,” Paul looked desperate. “I feel this connection to God, and I wish to further that. Don’t you understand that?”

“Of course I do,” Louis stirred in some sugar into his tea. He slid a cup towards Paul who completely ignored it. “And I will support you every step of the way. However, right now, you’re much too young.”

Paul thought for a moment, then turned to sit at the edge of the coffee table. Louis’ first instinct was to chide him for his lack of manners, but one look at his face left him hesitating. He seemed so lost in thought that he had actually left this room and gone to somewhere far greater. Louis pursed his lips. He didn’t know what to think.

For a moment, the two sat in silence. Paul’s eyes were half lidded, almost dreamy, as he thought long and hard about _something._ Louis watched the fire in the fireplace slowly grow weaker and weaker. He was transfixed for just a moment before tearing himself away. 

“Paul.”

Paul winced, as if Louis spoke too loudly. He turned to face him, his expression still a bit mystified. “I need a place to worship.”

The two were quiet for another moment, both waiting for someone to speak. Louis hesitated before uttering his words, carefully selecting the correct choice. “An oratory. All to yourself. There you can pray in peace, no one to bother you. And in a few years, we can talk about this dream of yours.”

Paul’s eyes unclouded, excitement etching over his face. “Louis, thank you! This is perfect. That way, I won’t have to leave you, or the family, or Pointe du Lac!” Paul rushed forward, nearly knocking over the tea set on the table.

Louis patted his brother on the back as they embraced. His brother was his world, and he never wanted to see him go. Maybe it was a bit selfish of him to think this, but it gave Louis _something_ to grip onto in life.

But, after a few seconds, that grip loosened.

“Truly,” Paul looked up at his brother. “Thank you.”

Louis smiled. “Anything for you, Paul.”

  
  
  


Lestat scowled. That stupid boy, always diverting Louis’ gaze in every other direction. Sure, he was Louis’ brother and all, and he shouldn’t be particularly jealous, but by God he was. It infuriated him, that this pesky brat of a boy could even _dare_ to ask so much of Louis. Oh, easygoing Louis. So carefree. So comfortable with life.

Louis was equal parts mindless and calculating. Autonomous and attentive. He was impossible for Lestat to understand, but he wanted to so, _so_ badly. But how?

And so, Lestat planned. He was patient, after all, he had all the time in the world. Literally. He continued to watch Louis from the shadows, piecing together a strategy. It took longer than Lestat would’ve liked to admit, but it was one nonetheless. All he had to do was wait for the oratory to be built, and he would be on his way.

Waiting for it, however, wore down on his “infinite” patience. Even though he _could_ wait forever, he just didn’t _want_ to.

Eventually though, the oratory was built. Little Paul practically made a home of it. Very rarely did he leave, and usually then it was only to dine or sleep. Some nights Paul would stay in the oratory, perhaps accidentally, but never regretfully. Lestat watched those nights when Louis would stray into the dark, a warm blanket in hand, as he poorly navigated his way through the garden and into the oratory. Those nights, Lestat had to hold back all his power from turning him then and there.

No, that would be _far_ too easy. Too _predictable._

This time was different, though. Paul was getting drowsy, nearing his sleep as usual, but Louis was nowhere to be found. Louis was not at Pointe du Lac this evening, having instead chosen to drink at his usual tavern. Lestat, though he wanted to join him, knew that this was his opportunity. A once in _several_ lifetimes kind of opportunity.

Lestat carefully stepped into the oratory. The heels of his boots clacked loudly against the stone floor, immediately drawing Paul’s attention to him. The boy looked up, astonished at the sight before him.

The moon glowed brilliantly behind Lestat, its beams casting a halolike effect over his silhouette, the front of which was completely dark.

“W-Who are you?” Paul’s voice quivered as he gaped at Lestat’s figure. The vampire’s movements were careful, but graceful, as he stepped closer.

“It is not a question of who _I_ am, but rather a question of who you would like to be,” Lestat murmured. At this point, he was close enough to the boy that he reached out and stroked the boy’s jawline with a single fingernail. The boy’s breath hitched at the length and the surprising sharpness of the nail. Lestat smiled, his face now visible to the boy.

“What are you?” Paul’s voice was hushed, but he was not afraid. In fact, he appeared to be curious. _Interested._

“Why, that’s an odd question to ask,” Lestat murmured, dragging himself away from the boy. “Not a very nicely worded one, either, _mon chou_.”

Paul looked panicked, and quickly corrected himself. “I-I did not mean it like that! You just…” He trailed off, gazing at Lestat with wonder. “You look ethereal.”

“That’s much better,” Lestat hummed.

“Are you an angel?”

Lestat turned away, hiding his smirk from the boy. Collecting himself, he feigned a quiet and kind voice from some faraway place inside him. “I do not think I can answer that for you, _mon cher._ That is something that can only be determined by you.”

“Then,” Paul thought for a moment, before nodding to himself. “I believe you are.”

Lestat turned, giving the boy what appeared to be a genuine grin. “Thank you, Paul. Truly. And for that, I shall lend you my assistance. My advice, if you will.”

The boy tilted his head a bit, his large blue eyes wide with wonder. “Advice? For what, may I ask?”

“Not moments ago, you called me an angel, yes?” Lestat paused, allowing Paul to nod. “And as an angel, it is my duty to be a messenger of God, is it not?”

“Well, of course, but--”

“Then listen to me, Paul. Your future, your desire to become a missionary is all there. It is not here, in this rotting swamp. No,” Lestat paused, the corners of his lips quirking upwards. “France is where you belong. Where you need to be.”

“You mean if I moved to France, then I would be able to--”

“Anything,” Lestat murmured, approaching the boy. Their faces were inches away at this point, Paul taking a sharp breath in through his slightly parted lips. “Anything that you desire is there. France. Remember that.”

And, when Paul blinked once, his angel was gone.

  
  
  


When Louis awoke the next morning, his head was pounding. The light of the sun poured into his bedroom, illuminating every wall around him. Any other day and he would bask in the warmth of it, but today he felt rather hungover. Not to mention, the relentless pounding in his ears that did not cease.

It only took a minute before Paul eventually broke into his room.

“Louis! Louis, wake up!” Paul jumped into his bed, forcing his elder brother awake. “Louis, something incredible happened last night in the oratory. Truly incredible!”

Louis moaned, rubbing his eyes. “Paul, it must wait. I’m barely awake, whatever you say will be forgotten. Let me get dressed, then we talk. Fair?”

His brother rolled his eyes. “Very well. But I won’t wait long. You have ten minutes, then I’m coming in.”

Louis grunted, stretching his arms before halfheartedly nodding. “Whatever, just leave me be.”

The ten minutes passed rather quickly. Louis sipped at the tea that was left by his bedside table for him, and he quickly dressed. He closed the curtains to protect his sore eyes from the light, and opened a window to allow the fresh air in.

“Louis? I’m coming in.”

Louis inwardly sighed. Of course, there Paul was, on the dot. It was strange though. These past few weeks Paul had appeared almost as though he were in another world, seeing through the people he spoke to as if they weren’t there. He even grew distant to Louis, his closest family member and friend. Frankly, his _only_ friend. Now, strangely, Paul seemed normal again.

Louis sat down at one of his chairs taking his teacup with him. He stirred slowly, looking up expectantly at Paul who took that as an invitation.

“Louis, remember how I mentioned I wanted to be a missionary? Back before the oratory was built?” Paul pressed, fidgeting nervously. “Well, I know how I can do that now. I had a vision.”

Louis stopped stirring his tea. “A vision?”

Paul nodded slowly, as if unsure of Louis’ reaction. “Yes. An angel spoke to me. A messenger of _God,_ Louis!”

“I know what an angel is, Paul.”

Paul ignored his comment, deciding to continue on. “The angel, Louis he was _beautiful._ The angel said that in order to fulfill my goals, my _destiny,_ I am to move to France.”

Louis chuckled. He couldn’t be serious. There’s no way that he, sweet little Paul, could have contact with a heavenly being. Louis _did_ believe in saints, however there was no way he could picture his own brother as such. “Oh? How do you suppose you’ll do that?”

“You can help me!” Paul clasped his hands together. “Louis, please, hear me out—”

“No. Paul, how could I afford sending you to France? How could I make sure you’re safe?”

“It doesn’t matter! This is what God wants, Louis! You can’t deny _Him.”_

Louis frowned. There was no way of convincing him to move on from his fantasies. Though it broke his heart, he began to regret how much he let Paul get away with. Even the oratory, something he thought would sate his thirst for his faith was not enough. Paul just took and took and took. It had taken Louis this long to realize how greedy his brother was.

“We can sell the plantation! Sell Pointe du Lac, then we’ll have the money to move to France, _together!_ ”

Louis had enough. “Paul, get out.”

“Louis—”

“ _Leave!_ ”

Paul froze, his eyes brimming with frustration. He gritted his teeth and spat a small ‘ _fine!_ ’ before exiting Louis’ room. The door slammed shut behind him, the sound reverberating throughout the house like a rumble of thunder.

Louis sighed as he sat back down. He felt a twinge of guilt at his treatment of his brother, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was _wrong._ Even the house grew strangely quiet, as if it held its breath in anticipation. As if something was going to happen, any second now.

And something _did_ happen.

A loud crash sounded at the foot of the stairs right before Louis’ bedroom door. In an instant, Louis stepped out of his room to take a look at the scene, not quite sure as to what he should expect. What he saw was horrific, and immediately drew tears to his eyes.

At the foot of the stairs lay Paul, his arms and legs at awkward angles. The worst part was the state of his neck and head. It was turned at an awkward angle, an expression of shock etched into his face. His eyes were glazed over. He was dead.

Louis wailed, his voice a single note of pure agony. Several servants rushed in, terror written all over their faces. They looked up at Louis, who watched their expressions change to something akin to distrust.

He knew it immediately. They assumed he had killed him. Shoved him down the stairs, perhaps. And a piece of himself _did_ feel guilty. Maybe his shouting had caused this terrible accident. His brother was _dead_ because of him.

He felt hopeless. He ordered the servants to take the boy’s body away, to leave him alone for the next hour. Without a last glance at his brother’s deformed state, he turned back into his room and shut the door behind him.

  
  
  


Lestat didn’t _mean_ for Louis’ brother to die. Of course, he didn’t really care all that much. As long as the boy was out of the picture, Lestat could care less if he was alive or dead.

A week or so passed since the funeral. Frankly, watching the Pointe du Lac family fall apart was entertaining, however what concerned him most was Louis. The man had gone from a life of ease and wealth to...well. Louis had become the town drunk. It was rather distasteful, watching this prestigious gentleman drop to his lowest low. To be quite fair, Lestat _had_ gone lower in the past, but it wasn’t the time to dwell on that now.

No, now that Louis was alone at Pointe du Lac, Lestat could finally make his move. Lestat watched Louis surrender his life in a mere bar fight, his body language screaming hopelessness. By all accounts, Louis wanted to _die._

And Lestat planned to deliver.

Louis drunkenly stumbled home one particularly humid night. The moon above shone in a waxing gibbous, beams of light spilling onto the lawn. A gentle breeze rippled through the grass, making the expansive yard look like a silvery ocean. Lestat, hidden behind the trunk of a large tree, watched the unsteady figure of Louis step forward onto the front steps of Pointe du Lac.

Lestat licked his lips in anticipation, waiting for the exact moment that Louis’ boot met the very first step. When it did, like lightning, Lestat broke out across the lawn, planting his deadly kiss upon Louis’ neck.

And for a moment, the world stopped.

  
  
  


Louis stumbled at the sudden contact of another person. They rolled for a second, Louis grunting in effort trying to get away. But why did he even bother? His head felt as though it were stuffed with cotton, his arms felt like jelly. And this person, this _thing_ upon him felt far stronger than he was. He gave in, letting his body go limp in the arms of his attacker.

But something peculiar happened.

Instead of pulling out a knife and demanding money, the attacker brought their face to the crook of Louis’ neck. Louis blinked in surprise, trying to pull them away, but froze at the first brush of their lips against his skin. They were surprisingly cold, causing a slight nervous shiver to rack Louis’ spine. He felt almost entirely sober now, but he still did not fight.

Louis’ breath hitched at the first feeling of teeth against his flesh. Goosebumps traveled along his body as he felt rather sharp canines drag along his quickening pulse. Before Louis could do anything, they pierced the sensitive flesh of his neck, drawing forth an unexpected gasp from Louis’ lips. Pain surged through his body as his vision grew cloudier.

Louis wearily looked at the attacker, surprised to find his gaze met by that of a young man. He was blonde, with brilliant blue eyes, and the fairest skin he had ever seen. He was _ethereal._ Angelic, even. But nothing could disguise the red stain of Louis’ blood upon his puffy lips.

And everything went black.


	2. Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damnation is only eternal if one lives as long. Luckily for Louis, he has no intention of doing so.
> 
> Lestat, however, has a different plan in mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow hello.. uhh... im only several months late lol,, college has been kicking my ass but i only uploaded this due to an unexpected lull in homework. wow!
> 
> yknow, i had like.. all of this written out in july but for some reason it just was not.. working so. rewrote it and now its here!
> 
> i apologize, its much shorter than the previous chapter. I decided that part of it just wasn't working well and decided to omit it. i'll try to make up for this in the next chapter, which i will try my best to finish asap! my goal is to have the next few chapters drafted before posting the next one
> 
> i'll stop here, i hope you enjoy!

“ _Monsieur! Monsieur!_ ”

Louis blinked slowly, his eyes having difficulty adjusting to the light of what felt like a thousand candles. His head buzzed a bit from his hangover, his body feeling like lead. It was strange, though. He felt incredibly weak, as though even raising his arms would take all of his energy.

It took him a moment to recognize the voice of one of his servants. She was gripping his arm, shaking it gently in hopes of rousing him from his slumber. And he was, looking up at her in confusion.

Truth be told, he didn’t remember much of the night before. Or the night before that, or the one before that. After the incident with his brother, Louis had stumbled into a life of alcoholism, leaving his past few weeks an endless blur. Something was different about last night though, something that shook him from his mindless drinking.

As he thought quietly to himself, he felt a pain burn at the crook of his neck. Surprised, Louis reached up to his neck, recoiling as his fingers brushed over a fresh scab.

“Monsieur, you were attacked last night. No one saw who or what had done it,” The servant pursed her lips, brushing Louis’ hair out of the way to take a look at the wound. “We found you lying on the steps, covered in blood.”

“No one saw?” Louis rasped, his voice terribly dry. The servant acknowledged this and held a cup of water to his lips. He gratefully sipped as she tilted the glass upwards. She shook her head.

“Not a soul, sir.”

Louis frowned. There was not much left that he could do given the circumstances. What had happened had happened, and that was all that could be said. But even still, a piece of him wanted to know more. Why him?

Louis dismissed the servant who reluctantly stepped out. He had a moment for himself to think, something he felt that he hadn’t done in a rather long time.

His life was spiraling out of control, he had nothing else to live for. His brother was his sanity, and now that he was gone...what was left? This world he lived in now was empty of all pleasures.

He sank back down into the billowing blankets of his bed, keen to return to a slumber that broke him from his thoughts. Aside from drinking, it was the only other escape he had.

 

 

Heart racing, a warm wet spot forming at his collarbone. Fear ran through Louis like a rough current. He was being attacked, but he didn’t move. He felt the pressure of another on top of him, pressing him uncomfortably into the cold stone steps of Pointe du Lac. Yet despite his discomfort, Louis stayed still.

“So _easy._ You’re far too easy, _mon cher_.”

Even as his vision ebbed into nothingness, Louis could still make out the faint radiance of his attacker. Brilliantly blue eyes burned into his very soul, making him feel more alive than he had ever felt before. His nose was tickled by the soft blonde curls of this… this _creature._ This positively frightening and alluring creature.

“What… what are you?” Louis’ voice was rough and weak, barely audible.

“For you? _Anything_ you desire.”

 

 

Louis decided to continue his typical nightly routine at the local tavern, despite the frantic requests from his servants to rest. He shrugged them off, a bit upset at their hypocrisy. After all, when Paul had died, they avoided him as though he carried the plague. He swore he even heard whispers of a curse on the plantation itself. The devil had visited, they said, the attack on Louis was merely the beginning of an endless payment for his wicked deeds.

Louis stumbled out of the house in whatever clothes he found lying around. His hair was unkempt, tucked haphazardly into a low ponytail. He called for a carriage, waiting expectantly for it to draw close. When it did, he hauled himself in the back, and ushered the driver to carry on.

For the first time in what felt like weeks, Louis was completely sober. Not that he liked the feeling of course, he preferred the drunken slur of life over this harsh world. But it gave him time to think. He was finally himself, though he may not have liked it. Perhaps now, as the carriage rode nearer and nearer to his drunken end, he had the time to mull over things.

At the forefront of his mind, understandably, was the attack the night before. His memories were blurred, an unforgiving mess of flashes of movement, of pain, of darkness. It was wild and untamed, but one thing remained steadfast. The attacker.

At the very fringe of Louis’ memories, he could make out the face of a man. Young, perhaps a bit older than Louis but only by a couple years, and absolutely stunning. The way his hair curled around his angular face, his complexion clear and as white as marble. If Louis hadn’t seen him moving and speaking, he would have thought for sure that the man was a Greek statue come alive.

But most of all, those blue eyes struck him. Even now, Louis could feel the weight of their glance in his very being. They were the clearest thing he could remember, as though his mind was a chaotic, static mess, and those crystal eyes were the only thing he could picture. It was hypnotic. Deep within him, Louis desired more.

Perhaps his workers were correct. Maybe the devil _had_ visited him that night. Maybe this was his punishment, after all, his heart truly felt a deep longing. Temptation, as it were put by the Bible. By the devout followers of God. And if it were so, then so be it. Louis didn't care. He had done enough wrong in his life to wholeheartedly accept any punishment that was thrown at him.

Louis just wanted to _let go._

He had contemplated death for a long time. As a child, the idea of heaven and hell shaped who he was. He was obedient, quiet, and a good son. He took care of his mother and sister when his father couldn't, and supported his only brother however he could. Up until now, Louis truly believed that good actions led to a good afterlife. Bad intentions led to hell. But as he came to think about it, a piece of Louis changed.

Hell is no place to go after death. Hell lived on Earth. Hell lived in the hearts of tainted souls. Hell lived in Louis, and Louis lived in Hell.

The only escape from this? Death, it seemed.

It was true, Louis wanted to die. To be fair, he didn’t truly _want_ it. It just seemed like the only option. The only release.

The moment Louis stepped into the tavern, he immediately felt faint. Lightheadedness took over him like a riptide, causing him to nearly buckle over. While a few men scoffed at the lowly state of Louis, one gentleman caught him before he could fall. The man helped him over to a table, sitting him down. Louis was quick to thank him, but as he glanced upwards, the man was gone.

Deciding that he must’ve just gone back to his own table, Louis shrugged the strange fellow from his thoughts. It didn’t matter. What mattered was the amount of alcohol he was about to consume.

Louis waved to the bartender, who nodded in acknowledgement.

As he waited for his drink, Louis glanced around at the tavern. There was a surprising bunch this evening, almost every table full. But yet, he still could not find that kind stranger from just moments before.

His thoughts were once again interrupted by another silhouette appearing in the corner of his eye.  
“Here you are,” The bartender planted the heavy mug in front of Louis, then gestured to the table nearby.

“Thank you,” Louis grunted, sliding a bill towards him.

“Thank you, sir,” The bartender acknowledged, but his expression changed. Louis pinpointed it to something akin to pity. “By the way, there are a few gentlemen in here that have expressed some...concerns about you.”

Pulling the mug to his lips, Louis looked up. “Concerns? Such as?”

“Deals with the devil,” A man from the table beside Louis’ stood up, his mates standing with him. “We all heard what happened to your brother. You killed him. No man does that without being friendly with evil.”

As though a weight was forced onto him, Louis felt his shoulders drop. “His death was an accident. Neither I nor the devil took any part in it,” Louis thought for a moment before continuing. “Whatever sin I have committed, this endless damnation I live with is enough for several lifetimes.”

“Ever since that funeral, ever since you rid of your family, people have been dying. Drained of vitality. Their corpses rot on our streets, your hands dirty with their blood!” The man growled, reaching to pull out a pistol from the holster by his side. “This whole town would be better without you and your cursed plantation!”

Louis slumped into the seat, his bare chest exposed to the loaded pistol pointing directly to his heart.

“Do it,” Louis murmured, staring blankly into the eyes of the man above him. “There’s nothing more that I long for on this earth than to be rid from it.”

The man scowled, lowering the gun and turning away. He stormed away from the sudden crowd, eager to rid himself from the spotlight.

Louis felt a hand on his shoulder, but he didn’t bother to look up. He was hoisted from his seat, carried limply out of the tavern as eyes peered intensely at him from all directions. He ignored them, feeling preoccupied by his perturbed state.

The man beside him whistled once, summoning a carriage from the side of the road. Louis hauled himself into the cart before turning to thank the man. However, similarly to earlier in the evening, the man was gone. Louis could only faintly make out the swift turn of a blond haired man disappearing in the shadows of the empty street.

Louis furrowed his brows, letting his mind toil momentarily over the vaguely similar presence of this strange man. Who was he, and why had he integrated himself into Louis’ life so frequently?

 

 

About halfway to Pointe du Lac, the carriage slowed to a halt. Louis, in his drunken delirium, barely registered the stop until he heard a small gasp from the driver. Before he could ask what was wrong, a harsh cry of agony broke into the night, jolting Louis into sobriety. He quickly left the carriage, stepping towards the empty seat where the driver, mere moments ago, was forcibly ripped from.

There was no trace of the driver anywhere, which was rather daunting. No signs of struggle, no footprints in the mud. Nothing seemed particularly out of place. Louis called out for him, hoping that he was just out investigating the road ahead, but there was no response.

“Hello?” Louis called into the empty night. His eyes were drawn to the shadows that seemed to creep towards him, inviting him into their grasp. Without thinking, he stepped into their welcoming arms, letting the dark encase his being.

He felt strangely at home, the cool loneliness of the barren forest making him feel as though his misery would be short lived. Though his head was foggy, his mind toyed with the impending catharsis that was promised by his instincts.

“Closer,” A voice called, smooth and silky through the thick brush Louis struggled to break through. “You’re almost there.”

Louis felt a rush of anticipation, quickening his pace. His sloppy movements were almost painful as they impeded his trek. He stumbled, falling through the brambles that seemed to wrap around his ankles, pulling him down. However, he never met the forest floor. Instead, he was cradled in two strong arms, gently setting him on his knees.

“Correct me if I am wrong,” The blonde man kneeling in front of him smiled. A genuine, but strangely wicked smile. “But I believe you just fell for me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whew. glad thats over with.  
> anyway, i hope you enjoyed! Also, sorry for any grammatical/spelling errors. i literally wrote this in my bio lecture bc i was bored lol  
> also, thank you to everyone who responded to the last chapter. I was blown away by the positive responses, thank you so much
> 
> follow me on tumblr if you like: rosesapphire.tumblr.com i'm relatively active there and more apt to respond/chat there than here!  
> comments/kudos are a big help, thank you!


	3. Part III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coffins can be surprisingly comfortable, so long as you know how to share.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow,, two updates in a span of just over a week? who am i

There was something in that smile that struck Louis, breaking him from his wandering mind into the present. The arms that held him were cold to the touch, yet somehow managed to be warm and inviting. But what was important was not the fact that he was being cradled by a stranger. No, he was being cradled by  _ the  _ stranger.

“Who are you?” Louis’ brows furrowed in confusion. “Why have you been following me?”

“Does it matter?” The man murmured, his gaze unwavering. Louis felt hot, feeling a bit embarrassed and turned away. 

“You know, I am very capable of standing on my own,” Louis stammered, starting to wiggle out of the man’s grasp. “If you would just--”

“Let you go?” The stranger hummed, releasing Louis without warning. He stumbled a bit, but caught himself quickly. 

“No,” Louis spoke defiantly. “If you would tell me your  _ name _ , please.”

“Lestat de Lioncourt,” Lestat said. “And you are Louis de Pointe du Lac. I know of you.”

“Considering you have been  _ stalking  _ me--”

Lestat raised a hand. Louis felt this urge to stop speaking, almost as if he were under a spell. He stared at the pale hand in front of him, watching it come closer and closer until the cool fingers of Lestat began to trace the shape of his jawbone. He shivered, breaking out of his hypnosis. “What are you?”

“The real question is what are  _ you _ ?” Lestat said. “Why do I find myself so drawn to you?”

Louis didn’t reply. Lestat’s answers were cryptic, if they could even be considered answers at all. Drawn to him? He was as clueless as Lestat seemed. 

“You remind me of someone, you know,” Lestat murmured, half to himself. “But there’s something about you.”

“I can’t say I know what you mean,” Louis replied.

The two stood in silence once again, Louis beginning to feel awkward due to the situation at hand. He was conversing with some otherworldly creature, one who had been watching him from the shadows for ages. But he was not afraid. In fact, his heart was hammering faster and faster with each passing moment. 

Lestat regarded him with a look unfamiliar to him. Perhaps it wasn’t meant to represent anything at all, but a part of Louis recognized something behind that gaze. Predatory, maybe. Intimidating, yes. 

Louis felt Lestat’s eyes on him, that strange glare watching him as he meandered around the oratory. He never liked being there, not with Paul gone. In fact, he refused to let anyone enter the area, leaving it to ruin as moss and vine grew over the stony surfaces.

But it was strange, standing there draped in moonlight, all his sorrows seemed to fade to nothingness. Perhaps it was more of Lestat’s power. Or maybe, just maybe, his soul had finally accepted what his future held.

“I can bring back that meaning into your life,” Lestat murmured, jolting Louis from his thoughts. “What you’re doing now is  _ not  _ living. You say you desire death, but I felt your panic the night I drank from you. You don’t want to  _ die.  _ You want to stop living.”

Louis gazed at him, confused. “Is that not exactly what dying is?”

Lestat pinched the bridge of his nose. “You don’t want to live the life you’re living, so you think that your only option is to end it.”

“Well, yes.”

“I can help you,” Lestat’s gaze was intense on him this time. “I can make you like me. Without life but forever living.”

Louis shook his head. “I don’t understand.”

Within a moment, Lestat was on him, pinning him to the cool trunk of a tree. Perhaps the icy blue glare of Lestat’s eyes piercing his soul were supposed to be frightening, but Louis found himself unafraid. When Lestat spoke, Louis could finally see the sharp fangs that poked from under his lip.

“A vampire, Louis,” Lestat said, his breath laced with a vaguely metallic scent. “You will never be sick, you will never feel the pains of humanity, you will never die.”

A sharp fingernail traced the shape of Louis’s jawline, dragging over the smooth skin until it met his chin. Pushing it upwards, Lestat exposed Louis’ neck enough to bury his nose in it. Inhaling sharply, he drew back, returning his half-lidded gaze to Louis’.

“You smell different, too,” Lestat muttered. “It’s almost intoxicating.”

“I want it,” Louis breathed. 

Lestat let go of his wrists and shook his head. “No, not tonight. This place is far too dirty. Besides, you should enjoy your last sunrise tomorrow morning, else you’ll live in regret for all eternity. I’ll send a carriage with some, er,  _ necessities _ for tomorrow night.”

Louis nodded slowly. “Very well. How then shall I find you?”

“I’ll find you, mon cher,” Lestat smirked, stepping backwards. “I always do.”

And he was gone.   
  
  


The light of the sun had already begun to seep through the curtains of Pointe du Lac by the time Louis had a moment’s rest. Remembering Lestat’s words, he quickly drew the curtains, drowning himself in the warmth of the morning light. It was nice, but it was nothing compared to the feeling of the night before, swimming in the silvery rays of moonlight as Lestat and he had finally conversed. 

The day had passed without much trouble. Louis meandered along the gardens, smiling softly at the surprised looks on the servants’ faces at his sudden change of demeanor. He was happy, it seemed, for the first time in a very long time. 

“Monsieur?” A servant, Yvette, knocked on his door. Louis called her in, and she entered, a tray of tea and cookies in hand. She placed the tray on a table nearby, but didn’t exit after doing so. 

“Monsieur? I do not wish to be rude. I and many others have noticed that you’ve changed dramatically in mere hours. Please, is everything okay?” Yvette stuttered through her words, aware that she was stepping out of line but still curious.

Louis glanced at her, taking a cup of tea from the tray. “You are not rude, Yvette. It’s alright. I understand I have caused you all trouble these past few weeks. But that shall change soon enough.”

Yvette nodded, beginning to excuse herself before Louis stopped her. 

“There will be a guest coming tonight. See to it that we are left alone.”

With a small, concerned nod, Yvette left the room without another word.

The day passed by rather slowly, much to Louis’ dismay. It was strange, it felt as though his soul had finally lifted after what felt like ages of torment. He should’ve enjoyed this moment, but he longed to see Lestat once again. 

A carriage had come by earlier in the day. With it came a large, boxlike object covered in a heavy white sheet. Louis knew better than to reveal it to the servants, thus ordering them to put it away and to keep it covered. They obeyed his directions, and it was tucked away elsewhere.

As the sun began to set, Louis meandered through the garden. The sweet scents of lavender and roses soothed his spirit as the warm orange rays of the sun warmed his skin one last time. The light trickled through the clouds, creating a strange halo effect in the sky above. It was beautiful, but Louis did not once doubt his decision. 

The cool expanse of stars was quick to replace the orangey blue sunset above. Regardless of his future, Louis was almost sure he was making the right choice. To him, it seemed, there were no others. 

“Fancy seeing you here,” Lestat seemed to appear out of thin air, his voice breaking Louis from his thoughts. “I thought I told you to enjoy your last  _ day.  _ You’ll have plenty of nights.”

“I did,” Louis said. “I must’ve lost track of time.”

“Seems so,” Lestat crossed his arms, his brow quirked upwards. “Shall we, then?”

Louis nodded. The two made their way back to the manor, Lestat toying with all sorts of decorations the moment they stepped inside. He picked up a candelabra, examining it before Louis’ incredulous stare. At the sight of his raised eyebrow, Lestat placed it back down and shrugged.    


“A little gaudy, but I suppose it suits my tastes.”

Eventually, the two made it into Louis’ bedroom. Lestat flopped into an empty seat while Louis sat at the very edge of his bed. They sat in silence for a moment, Louis drifted away in thought while Lestat played with the lace cuff of his sleeve. It was never an awkward silence, however, it was strangely peaceful.

A knock at the door startled the both of them.

Yvette entered, eyes immediately drawn to the blonde stranger in the room. Louis traced her gaze, surprised by the burning intensity in Lestat’s eyes. His nostrils flared for a moment, but his demeanor changed almost instantly. He stood, extending his hand to take Yvette’s, a smile on his face as he dipped his head to plant a kiss on her hand. 

“Lestat de Lioncourt. A close friend of Louis’,” Lestat said to her, his grip tightening for a moment before pulling away. She let out a small, poorly disguised gasp, and quickly turned her attention to Louis.

“I apologize for intruding, Monsieur, but I was coming to offer dinner for you and your friend.”

“Dinner?” Lestat said, a chuckle apparent in his voice. “How bold!”

Just as Yvette turned to him with a confused look, Louis responded. “We’re fine, thank you.”

She nodded, giving one last glance at Lestat, and shut the door behind her. 

“She smells quite delicious,” Lestat murmured, picking at his teeth with a fingernail. “Do you fancy her at all? I certainly might.”

“No,” Louis sighed. “And I’d like to request that you won’t kill my servants, please.”

“Whatever. Now,” Lestat walked over to Louis, one hand on his hip while the other lifted Louis’ chin upwards. “Shall we carry on?”

Louis’ lips parted, words just about to tumble out, but he was stopped. Without warning, he was forcibly shoved into the bed, his head meeting the luxuriously soft pillows. Lestat was on him, one hand moving Louis’ head to face in the opposite direction, and the other holding firmly on Louis’ shoulder. 

Louis couldn’t even comprehend what was happening. One moment they were conversing, the next, he could feel Lestat’s breath on his neck, his knee becoming dangerously close to--

Pain.

Louis gasped as Lestat’s fangs broke the skin of his neck, his cold lips pressed to the warmth of Louis’ flesh. Lestat moaned into the bite, the vibration jolting something deep inside Louis to do the same. He feebly raised his arms to pull Lestat closer, one hand tangling into the soft golden curls of his hair. That pain had shifted to something else, something Louis was  _ enjoying.  _

It didn’t last.

Soon, his arms dropped to his sides, his muscles weak and his mind foggy. He could feel nothing besides cold seeping into his fingertips, and the suddenly warm body of Lestat’s body above him. Lestat broke away, straddling the human as he looked down at him. Louis was brought back to that night, remembering the same face of Lestat with bloodied lips and that faint pink blush on his cheeks. 

“I have drained you to the point of death,” Lestat murmured, breathlessly. His own eyes seemed foggy, unfocused, as he spoke to Louis. “You can either die, or I will give you the Dark Gift. Is that what you want?”

Louis could barely think, let alone talk. His mind was running wild.  _ No,  _ he thought,  _ I just want you to continue. Don’t break away from me. Don’t stop. _

“Yes.”

Lestat smirked once more, bringing his wrist to his mouth. A quick bite and a wince of pain and it was over, his own blood now dribbling down his hand. He brought it close to Louis, watching as a drop dangled dangerously over his lips. 

“Drink.” 

Louis’ lips parted slightly, chapped and welcoming any moisture. At first, the metallic taste of blood did little to reassure him that, yes, this was the right choice. In fact, for the first time in the past several days, Louis realized just how  _ ridiculous  _ his life had become. As Lestat’s blood slowly began to stain his lips, Louis allowed the thoughts he had denied his mind the opportunity to think to finally surface.

Paul. His mother. His sister. His family. Lestat. The plantation. The town. Lestat. Those men at the bar. Lestat. That loaded pistol to his chest. 

_ Lestat. _

Suddenly, Lestat pulled away, leaving Louis feeling cold and alone. His heart hammered rapidly as burning pain seared throughout his body. Each vein and artery felt as though molten metal was coursing through them. His muscles spasmed uncontrollably, the only thing he could do was cry out in agony.

But Lestat returned. His body was warm pressing against him, feeling some sick form of relief from this insufferable pain. His hand pressed hard on Louis’ mouth, muffling his screams from alerting any of the household. He grunted in effort as Louis struggled beneath him.

“Can’t you die just a  _ bit  _ quieter?” Lestat muttered to himself through gritted teeth.

It took a few moments for Louis to grow still, allowing Lestat to loosen his grip. He felt terribly cold, and was hardly moving. A wash of panic ran over Lestat. Could he have messed up somehow? Did he do something wrong?

But a sharp intake of breath broke him out of his momentary panic. Louis’ eyes opened, looking at Lestat in a mix of horror and bewilderment. 

“What--”

“The pain is over for now,” Lestat said, interrupting him. “You haven’t died yet. I can still hear your heartbeat.”

“Oh.”

Lestat pursed his lips. He watched the human--well, barely human--as he sat up, looking around the room. He looked exhausted--rightfully so. If it weren’t for Lestat’s blood already beginning to course through his veins, he would almost certainly be dead. 

Louis already looked terrible. His face was beaded with sweat, his hair slick and his skin pallid. Lestat knew it wouldn’t last, but he couldn’t help but feel even the  _ tiniest  _ bit sorry for the man. Soon, those ragged features of humanity would become the sculpted features of a proper creature of the night. 

Though, deep down, Lestat knew that even the Dark Gift could do little to improve the appearance of Louis. He already  _ was  _ handsome. Unrightfully so.

“Come now, there’s one last thing we must do,” Lestat offered his hand to Louis, who gratefully took it. Helping him up, the two left Louis’ bedroom behind. “The thing I sent, where is it?”

“Guest bedroom,” Louis murmured, his gaze cloudy as he leaned on Lestat for support. His knees felt weak, he was suddenly  _ very  _ thirsty. 

They entered the guest room without bumping into any of the servants which was quite lucky. Seeing Louis in such a state would’ve thrown them in a frenzy, for sure. The vaguely rectangular clothed shape sat in the very center of the room, neatly kept untouched by unfamiliar hands. Lestat pulled back the sheet in one swift movement, allowing it to finally reveal itself to Louis.

“A coffin?” Louis questioned, his voice rough and dry. 

“An regrettable necessity, yes,” Lestat crossed his arms, regarding the intricately decorated woodwork of the lid. “Even more regrettably, I only have the one, so we’ll have to share.”

“What?” Louis glanced up, brows furrowed in surprise. “The two of us?”

“For God’s sake, Louis,” Lestat pinched the bridge of his nose. “Who else but us?”

Without waiting for a response, Lestat pushed the lid partially open, sliding himself in. Louis watched him gently lower himself down, trying to hide his own discomfort at the idea of sleeping in a coffin. With  _ him.  _

“Will you quit stumbling over your own thoughts and just join me already?”

Louis blinked, stepping towards the coffin. Lestat sat up, gently holding Louis’ hands to guide him in. Within a few moments of working out the most comfortable positioning, Lestat shutting the lid above them. 

They lay there, facing each other in the darkness. Lestat’s eyes adjusted almost immediately, but Louis was still squinting for a few moments longer. Watching the human was strange, he usually found them to be blubbering idiots for the most part. 

However, Louis was different. The vacant look in his eyes as he stared in the distance, lost in thought, always calculating and planning each word before speaking. The way his default expression seemed tired, but his eyes twinkling with alertness. The way he emanated an aura of melancholy, encasing those who strayed too close. Lestat was  _ infatuated.  _

Louis watched Lestat glance over him, noting the way his eyes traveled all around his face, ending at his lips, then back up. Louis enjoyed this moment of humility, the way Lestat tried to hide the apparent gleam in his eyes. But aside from that, Lestat was truly a sight to behold.

The brilliant blue eyes that seemed to pierce into his very soul and the gentle curves of his lips. The sharpness of his cheeks as they cast shadows on the white expanse of skin. He was beautiful. 

Louis’ eyes began to droop, the exhaustion of everything that had happened finally beginning to seep into his body. He let out a breathy sigh, letting himself relax. Maybe he was aware, or maybe he was not, but Louis’ head fell to press against Lestat’s chest. He could hear no heartbeat, but felt the vampire tense for a moment, then relax. 

As the time passed, Lestat could feel that Louis had probably fallen unconscious. He brought a hand to his head, letting his fingers curl through the dark strands of Louis’ hair. It was soft and silky, free of knots and tangles as he combed through it. He tried not to pay attention to the way it fell onto his face, delicately framing his cheekbones, for fear of becoming too enamored by the sight. 

Eventually, however, he could hear Louis let out one last breath, the last hint of life as his body went still. The gentle beat of his heart faded from existence. 

For the very first time in a long time, Lestat felt guilty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks to those who commented on the previous chapter! you inspired me to keep going with this,, ive had this particular scene in my mind since starting this fic months ago, and finally i got to write it! (also, I changed the rating on the fic just due to some upcoming themes. i dunno why i haven't changed it sooner, but I just want to play it safe)
> 
>  
> 
> as per usual, my tumblr is rosesapphire.tumblr.com, thank you again!

**Author's Note:**

> check out my new tumblr @ rosesapphire.tumblr.com! thanks for reading to this point + remember kudos and comments help me out tremendously! thanks again!


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